


Circles

by DivineBlade



Category: Phantasy Star (Video Games), Phantasy Star III
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 21:16:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15804729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DivineBlade/pseuds/DivineBlade
Summary: And so, they walk the ancient worlds, winding down the forgotten paths.Thea relearns the courting songs of old, when time was young, and the land had not been torn asunder thrice over.Sari rages like wildfire, swallowing the world in, spitting back bits and pieces of her heart and hate bone-dry so the universe can hurt-heal.And Ayn staggers in doubt even as he plummets through. A single thread binding two worlds. A foot in each. Double fated, double hearted, forever divided.





	Circles

**Aridia**

The crowd parts when Ayn takes up a sword. Thea is not sure why she remembered this then, on the dingy mattress of Lensol castle cold cell, the night eternal and the spirits silent. But here lying on the thirsting plains of Aridia that craves blood as if sundered by Orakio’s own cursed blade, it is difficult to think of anything but. “The spirits are ravening here, frothing at the mouth”, she says to Ayn, Fingers clenched in the cool midnight sand, maddening, mad with power or centuries of silence, howling at the deaf Orakians, till the curse had turned into a blessing.

“We cannot stay here.” she says to her father days later in a cavern, when the trembling has subsided, and she no longer needs to lean on Ayn who shakes with the aftershock of every jolt of power that runs through her.

“We are stronger here.” her father says, a dark look in his eye, the other, gone dark forever- there is no benevolent spirit to call upon here to heal for any of them. –the air is thinner here, Ayn says. In a soft almost-apology, As if he wants her to forget that he despises them, the benevolent ones, the ones who considered him beneath their calling, the-

“No Layan can survive this place,” she says, Ayn muscles twitch under her fingers as if touched by a small breeze and all Thea can feel is the stifling heat. The king’s fingers curve at the hilt of his sword. The queen’s eyes narrow. Feral the lot of them, after a month of Aridia. Frayed at the edges, Thea after a week. “Find us a home then,” her aunt says cool smoky eyes set on her son. Her lithe form shimmering in heat in Thea’s eyes as Ayn lowers his head in a shallow bow.

“Where would we even start?” Thea wonders out loud, punch drunk on power and dread as the guilt slowly creeps in the further she gets from the melting bodies of their fallen adversaries. Ayn throws away a piece of cloth ruined with blood and dirt now that his blade shines a wicked silver. “No longer only cyborgs” he grimaces as he looks at their other companions. “Can you ask them? If we only had an inkling of what is going on here- “Thea shakes her head: “the ones at Aquatica are gone, the ones at Draconia are silent and the ones here, she pauses consider her words. Offer only power in place of an answer.” Ayn gives her a thin smile. “Only one way to go then,” he says.  The Twin's Ruby lies heavily on a chain around her neck. Thea does not tell him that it’s a blessing he doesn’t hear their call. Does not want him calling her out on her lie. Even though it isn’t. Not truly. This time. They set course for the east. Thea’s heart is disquiet.

**Landen**

There is a storm brewing, in the distance. It is not what she says - the witch, layan, princeling, Thea -as Sari lands soundlessly from the tree she has scaled, instead their modest gears are packed and the campsite is picked clean and covered in patches of dirt in a poor attempt at camouflage Sari doesn’t bother correct, chances are the forces following them would stumble upon them due to their sheer numbers than any cunning on their part. Best to find somewhere safe to weather the storm. Safe, she tastes the word as she takes the first watch at the entrance of a cave and the others start settling inside.  She wonders what _she_ would’ve thought if she’d seen Sari fighting alongside them -Their magic crackling up her skin. There is some kind of poetic justice here, vindicated post death. The betrayal should not cut so sharp Sari thinks, so she loved him enough to leave him the keys to the kingdom. One that he didn’t even want. only for these children to come with their greedy little hands and no regards for her tattered land.

She would’ve torn them to shreds. Should have. _Slay no living being_ Orakio can spit on her for all eternity for all she cares. They bleed the same blood as the monsters as the Layans as her own people (and Sari knows this, the feel of their waning heartbeats warm under her shaking hand.) and yet, whispers in the wind, and her mother the wisp of the waning moon, wolfs boon basked in the twilight. Bright red memory branding her, binding her. She has her eyes, her hair- longer, her fingers- defter. She is sturdier stronger. And still, an evening eons away. A Voice. High. Lashing out. Vindictiveness borne and festered in austerity. “You should’ve dragged him back, home –Landen, Satera. You don’t get to have both, satin sheets, evening feasts, blood hounds and finely bred mares and hunting grounds at dawn. You don’t get to have a city bowing to your every whim, only to toss it all aside at the first coy glance and beckoning lips, lay it bare for monsters and demons to claim.” “Young, so young you are my heart and so brave.” Her mother had said. Brow upon hers. Sari had laughed, throat rasping on the day that she died. There, by her bedside pale lips on the back of her hands. Last words whispered to the wind. Wolves howling at the red moon.

Sari does not think of these as she guards the entrance of the cave, breeze damp on her skin with the breath of a stillborn storm. Her mother’s memory is eternities away, and its claws find no purchase on the smooth marble of her resolve but then, Inside, Thea commands fire, snapping her out if her reverie and she turns her head back to watch the flames lick her fingers before taking to the wet twigs and Ayn’s face as it cracks a smile, poorly masked in the sheen of his own blade.

 And Sari gazes at them, this ragged due of princeling turned paupers. Strangers, traitors, deserters in her land, her home. And yet it is to them that the land talks cajoles and consoles. Even as it devours her people, demands her sweat and toil and life. And it is no longer tolerable (if it ever was) to contain inside, this bitter flame that burns brittle and blue, as Thea’s fire crackles and spit inside and there is a half-smile, heads tilted, hushed words exchanged in confidence with fatigue weighting down their shoulders- the gesture so intimate that Sari has to avert her eyes, hands balled up into a fist, nails digging into flesh. And what a poor watch she must be that even the sound of rain long -falling now without her noticing, catches her off-guard. And it is with the burden of that shame that when one of his cyborgs, Orakioes companion come to relieve her from her watch, Sari declines, stepping out instead into fallen darkness and lets the night and the rain wash her black, hair and eyes and heart and marrow, darker than her mother’s ever was, and listens to the only whisper she can hear. Carried on the wings of a time long passed.

“May you never know heartbreak the way I did my heart, nor him.”

Sari throws her head back. Swallows her howls.

**Draconia**

Landen is not home. For all that it felt like Cile. The land sought and turned with disgust at the sight of its own half, poisoning its children with whispers against theirs. The spirits- as Thea calls them, had opened their eyes after decades of slumber, gracing them with half a glance and recognizing them for what they were- Thea the prodigal daughter returning home, merited enough of their interest to be granted her requests. And Ayn the abomination, Recognized as the flesh of their flesh and cast out for the part that was not. He knew the steps well by then. It was Sari that threw him off -Scarred and forged by war, slashing at them in desperation. As if any Layan would’ve cared for _this_ land, marred by war and famine and plague, when they could have a utopia unscathed, waiting to welcome them with open arms. She would’ve killed them if she thought she could get away with it. Knowing the envoy for what it was, even though they had come in peace. And his father, the sly fox for sending them through the blighted streets of his childhood home. Staking claim to an heirloom no longer his. 

Yet Ayn had crossed blades with her and felt at home, drawn to her fire. Even though the blades at home were never as sharp as her teeth a hair breath away from his neck. Eyes wild, losing the war and losing the battle. Despite being stronger, quicker with an army at her back and all the while knowing-

They cannot afford to have another enemy at their heels. Thea had said fire casting shadows against her face and Ayn had smiled unseen in the night.

“Give us the power topaz and we’ll be gone.” Ayn says, blade broken, skidding across the floor. Hers digging into his skin as she shrugs off a bolt of Thea’s attack, air reeking of churned flesh. “Give me your word that no Layan will ever cross this land.” She says. Ayn tries to shake his head, feels the pain blooming against the blade. “Not my word to give.” Not his heirloom to seek either, prying his worth from the hands of a girl worthier to it, to the land, to the ruins of the legacy of his father she has fought tooth and nail to keep. 

He would be fearful of her cutting their throats in their sleep if he thought her more honorable. But she needs the cyborgs’ army gone. If there is to be a chance for Landen. Ayn had reminded her of that and smiled, vicious enough to mirror her snarl.

She had chosen to come with them. The lesser of all evils. Evil nonetheless. The militia might be lost without Sari, a dispensable leader she is not and Landen, blazed to the ground. But it also means that none of their people will come seeking after their kin to her land and the power topaz is with them along with the royal blood that it needs. –Ayn might’ve wept for the fate of Landen if he was not the beast he was raised to be. As it is, his people need a home and he knows where his priorities lie. The key is on a chain around the throat of the wolf queen a leash pulling on all their necks. Sari knows this as well. It is all in the way that she fights, carving bits and pieces of herself into every soul she meets. Her might, a storm to their thunders and more. Seeking death at every turn –hers and by proxy theirs- only to find the battle lacking, the timing wrong. It is almost impossible to take eyes off her at moments like this of the mad dance of suicidal survival. Not only for Ayn who feels the incomprehensible pull of a thread drawing him to her. He sees it in the sweetened, deception coated, desperate oh so desperate words of Thea, all faux delicacy and silky tongue, muddying reality with illusion as if she doesn’t have the favors of land and sky running through her shimmering edges. “ _We are both women, no? We know how to rationalize when men wage war”_ and Sari who had thrown her head back. Laughed and laughed and laughed.

Trust does not come easily to Thea. Rightfully so, even as Ayn feels himself beginning to waver. Their never ending trek through Draconia at times seems hopeless. Tension runs high at the heels of the fleeting time and there is no decline in the surge of enemies hindering their path. But the sea is a foe of another mettle. There is no way for them to cross and Thea’s features when Ayn mentions this is stone-calm. Ayn is only learning now, there are secrets to the dragon knight’s daughter that nobody is to be privy of. Not even him who had thought to have known her better than himself just a season past.

 Sari takes better to Mieu and Wren than to them. Is able to coax stories out of one and bring bewildered smiles to the other’s face, reminding Ayn with a great jolt that he has never tried either, for all that he has known them before he learnt his own name. And Thea.., she does not take well to this at all. He catches them mid argument once- Thea standing rigid and indignant over Sari’s slouching figure, not even looking up, her shadow filling half of the campsite. “If you truly believe them to be _living_ \- her voice wavers at this, she has not touched one Layan through this journey with her magic, Ayn willing to step in for her when Sari does not, he does not mind. It is the sole form of protection she allows him to offer and Ayn owes her much more than this. The role of the beast after all was the only one up for grab at the start of their stories and Ayn had stopped hating that years ago. “-how can you go on, having their blood, ( _my people, ours_ ) and their life -she throws a finger much like a blade towards Wren, on your conscience? Is there anything left in you that is human?”

“I do,” Sari says solemnly “feel their deaths.” I only know that I will also die one day the way they’ve fallen.”

“Is that supposed to settle the score, one death for the many? Is this your people’s idea of justice?”

“No.” Sari says. Calmly. As if talking to a child. “It is the only thing that I have. To give or to be robbed of.”

“You think to go through this war with your honor unscathed, your highness and you only succeed in painting many other hands red.” “the enemies I respect” she says almost as an afterthought. “But the cowards, are the ones I despise. The more their strength.”

Thea’s fingers ball into a fist taut with restraint even as she regards him, demanding him to intervene with a shadowy glance. And yet, for all that Ayn would gladly lay his life at her feet should she but ask, for all that Ayn loves her, loves Thea _who had forgiven him for being an abomination, forgot even, at the rare instances_. Who deserves more than he could ever offer her. He cannot condone her. Not now, red on his hands and red on his blade. He pleads her to understand holding her gaze. Silence settling like defeat on their weary shoulders.

Thea is mostly silent in the days that come. They set camp near a small fishing village trying to bargain with fishermen for a boat that would see them to the other coast. None of their vessels can cross the sea, they argue, more so in this foul weather and though none of them know of Thea’s mastery of spirits, Ayn, reluctantly has to side with them. They are offered lodging and food instead for a fortnight within the village that turns into two much to Ayn’s wariness. But then, one dawn Thea vanishes to the edge of the village for a few hours and then surveys the grey sky as if looking for a sign. Sari regards them as if they are harboring a secret but holds her tongue. Perhaps they are. Ayn no longer looks at the sea like a foe to be conquered and Sari can sniff out these things like a bloodhound with the scent of a wounded hare.

The fishermen release a collective sigh of relief when he asks for a way to compensate them for the providing them with lodging and food until the sky clears. But there is not much to do in the town in such weather and they are mostly in the way. So, they are banished to the tavern most days with pouches considerably lighter where Thea holds court beside the hearth, charming every single man woman and child with her ethereal beauty razor sharp wit and honeyed tongue. He thinks of Shusoran court as she sings, where her counsel and company were most coveted. And how he hated those halls.

 But the audience here is more innocent, besotted with her in matter of hours without seeking anything in return. They bring old family charms and colorful stones to adorn her tresses. Teach her their old songs tell her their own stories. And Thea catches his eyes with a smile as if she can’t quite believe how amidst this chaos they came upon this moment of fragile peace. Ayn does not know what will become of this little game of make believe but Thea’s eyes are shining the way they haven’t since the old days of Cile and Shusoran and his heart feels a bit lighter. And it is perhaps the same magic in the air that makes Sari (awkward and flanked by Wren and Mieu) to accept Thea’s request for a song. And when her voice, deep and soulful in the way Ayn never expected. Cracks on the second verse and Wren declines to continue (“I don’t have the vocal cords for it either _”_ , Sari says with a rueful smile) it is Mieu who sings the rest. Voice bittersweet and haunting in a way that the whole tavern falls into a hush. Sari says in the wake of silence, her hands gently grasping Mieu’s arm: “Someone put all their heart into creating you. My friend”

“As they did with you.” Mieu smiles and Ayn listens to Sari’s hoarse laughter as he watches the light in Thea’s eye dim and wonders how he thought they could have this a moment that does not hurt. Amidst this chaos.

“You’re too hard on her.” He says. “Perhaps I am.” Sari inspects the handle of one of the training swords before tossing it towards him. Ayn tightens his grip around the handle. “you don’t need to hurt her.” Sari tsks as she attempts to fix his grip on his sword. Ayn flushes with anger. “I am not a whelp who’s picking up a weapon for the first time.” “No.” Sari says. Annoyance creeping up her features. “But you always mix two styles. Which is fine- if you’ve mastered both. Then you can experiment all you want. But until then, there are bound to be bits and pieces out of place no matter how gifted you are.” Ayn let his grip shift into its original states. Watching Sari intently as she chooses her own sword. “Do not change the subject.” He says as they start circling each other.

He doesn’t know for whose benefit this sparring session was arranged. They are both out of their element in the tavern. The difference is, Ayn is used to being in Thea’s shadow, Whereas Sari’s larger than life presence is dwarfed there by an air of uncertainty he hasn’t ever felt around her. She hasn’t been subtle with her tells in weeks. Long glances toward west. Constant touch of fingers to blades. A raging war or a ghost town razed to the ground are what await her. If she can return- he realizes with a jolt as she disarms him in three moves. He picks his sword up with an anger he doesn’t quite understand. “Growth hurts” she says. “So does learning that you’ve been contradicting your own believes from the start.” She continues as if speaking from personal experience. It takes longer to disarm him this time, still his sword winds up in the dirt. Spirits, they should let her go back but he is no more capable of doing that now that he was before. He has a moment of madness when they start the third round and thinks of going to his father to tell him he has found a land he is duty bound to protect. And it isn’t Azura. It never can be Azura. ‘Mercy is not a weakness.” she says. “I was taught that a long time ago, but I let it slip away from me.”” As I said,” she continues with a look in her eyes he can’t decipher, “growth hurts. So does finding out you fall short of the standard you hold yourself up to. Or even, that you are better.”

Something in his chest is set loose even as the breath is knocked out of him “And here I thought,” she says with a grin “that you were a seasoned warrior. Your highness” Ayn holds his smarting wrist as he frowns at her, but his glare holds no heat.

They part and come together in heated sparring sessions in the following days. Ayn finds himself telling her of the spirits, of how no matter where they turn, the land is never kind to a half blood, of growing up an alien on unwelcoming soil, his only friend a kingdom away. She tells him of the few years before the war and of a few years after when there was still hope for victory. She tells him of Landen and its people in those decades the spirits slumbered. And he lets her fix his grip and his stance and teach him of the two separate styles he mixes without knowing either. And she cushions every blow, going out of her way to avoid causing pain.  Thea joins them sometimes but for the most part watches from afar. “You are like mirrored images when you come at each other” she says. And Ayn pretends not to know the meaning of her words. How Sari feels familiar in a way that even beloved Thea despite the years companionship doesn’t. For Ayn knows well of the love that grows from admiration and gratitude under the shades of envy, the ever yearning to possess what one could never be- He was so sure he would marry her one day.

And it is as if there is something about this shadow dance Sari is trying to teach him that he already knows. “Your father’s Master trained mine too and my father passed down his skills to me.” Ayn wouldn’t know. his father did not teach him how to wield a sword. The blade master was brought in from Agoe when it was made clear that Ayn did not merit the blessing from the spirits. But perhaps it is something carried in the blade, in the could’ve been shared blood he thinks as Sari guides him through the steps, all she knows and more. All that she won’t put to words: your legacy. Not just the ruins. These too, as long as there is someone to pass the skills down to, so the people can survive. they can build and settle and grow. If not through me, then through you .

And when Ayn finally draws blood, for all that Sari is quicker, stronger, tempered in the fires of war in the ways he shall never be, he staggers cursing his father for every time Sari has fixed his grip on the handle of his sword, for now as she grins, inspecting a broken blade, hers. Sharp teeth and blood, and gazes at him, like she’s looking at death, despairing and half in love with her. And Ayn knees would’ve given out if the world hadn’t tilted, if Thea’s gaze hot on his back and his people’s despair and hope hadn’t seized him by the neck in a chokehold. No white lies and no half-truths he thinks, the world half black, because Landen will fall and before it will Sari. And he would spend this life and the next cursing his father for a choice that wasn’t a choice and yet robbed him of one, robbed her of her life. As she fixes his lax fingers in a grip around his sword, lashing at him with a broken blade her, laughter echoing in the air, Ayn’s heart weeping at her feet as he bends under the strength of her blows- flesh of my flesh, so foolish, I was, so cruel. The stench of blood sharp in the air. Spirits blessedly silent for once, as he gives in. let’s go of an unattainable dream and of one unchaseable. Of his heart whispering, broken by the epiphany: _but_ _she is home. Sari is home_.

They leave the village the next day on Thea’s notice. The harsh weather still prevails but there is something. _Someone_ waiting for them on Cape Dragon Spine.

**Azura**

_Layans and their monsters_. Sari muses as she steps out of the inn for a breath of fresh air, the rest of her companions having remained at the bedside of a dying man. Had anyone told her, two seasons past that she would one day traverse the sea on the wings of a dragon she would have laughed at them, the shrill laughter of dead men risen from their shallow graves. She does laugh now, a distorted thing tinted with an edge of hysteria as her hand falls onto her blade. _You are her daughter, Lena’s, aren’t you? Almost a split image_. And she had recoiled as if slapped her mother’s word ringing in her ears: _It is not our custom to condemn one for the crimes of his sires. A friend told me once, that our land was vast and wise, silent, saved for a few choice words for the chosen, that it judges based on merit and grants what you are due.”_ It was you,” she had said, “The Layan that woke the land. The Layan that- “

Thea had ushered her out then. Not wanting her harsh words to be the last thing her father hears. And Sari can sympathize, except her mother is dead and there is nothing but more death awaiting her back home and the midst of a war is a terrible time to grow a conscience. Not that she is sure she has one, but she wants neither of them, the four of them, to ever hurt the way she does and perhaps that in itself is a start.

Ayn comes out, a pale sheen of sweat covering his brow. “He’s stabilized, for now. Thea is with him along Mieu.” His sharp gaze takes her in, the desperate twitch of her fingers to reach for her blade and says. “You can’t stay your hand of demons, for the fear of wings that one day might take flight.” And Sari flinches at this- his permission to slay him in another form. Does he think her that much of a monster?

“Did you know?” She asks as her hands fall idly to her sides. “Mere speculations,” he says. “The secrets of the dragon knight are guarded jealously within the bloodline.” “You’re hardly an outsider,” she says. And he gives her a rueful smile: _halfling._ And there is something, a dull ache throbbing where once just anger was that wants her to gather him in her arms, to offer him a place with his people, with _their_ people. But there is nothing she can offer but ruin and blood and a land that is not her own. So she stays her hand. Holds her tongue and listens as he continues: “He is my uncle after all and his sister was being married to a savage Orokian. It was not difficult to put the two and two together.”” And he does have a flair for the dramatics.” He says with an almost fond smile.

Oh, Sari has heard the story, the two princes, one winged and the other bound- the two princesses, both promised one seeking, the other found. The two betrothals, one undone to beget the other, the circle, unbroken: the one who stayed, one who deserted and the princess who came back, -to Landan Satera to bear the wolf cub that is Sari. So that the poison would pass on. Except there will be no wolf cub this time around and no poison. Sari is going back, to fight and die at the gates of Landen castle with her country men and that. Well. That is that.

 “They made terrible choices our parents.” She says. “Our world would’ve been better without them.” and it is such a terrible thing to say for Sari who once opted to fight with daggers instead of a sword simply because they were her mothers first. But Ayn laughs. Unbridle and almost childlike. “Yes it would but... I wouldn’t call it a total loss. For one thing you wouldn’t have been born.” And Sari thinks of Mieu’ kind words, that day in the tavern and the pang of regret that had followed them as she thought _what a waste_.

Thea joins them after a while with measured steps, composed, not even a hair out of place. But her eyes are tired and gentle as she finds them lazing like cats in the sun that has finally graced them with its rays. “He is better,” she answers Ayn’s unasked question as Sari stretches and pops a joint. “He will stay here as we visit the castle. I would’ve preferred for Mieu to stay with him but.” There is no knowing what awaits them in the castle. “Will he stay put?” Sari asks and wonders if she could lie there for days and days under the sun, wonders if that would finally taw the ice deep in her marrow. “He is terrible at looking after himself. Has always been as long as I can remember. The only consolation is, it will take weeks before he is healed enough to start snooping around.”” Spirits,” Thea groans as she sinks to the ground beside to them. “I’m a terrible daughter.” Ayn laughs and Sari grins more genuinely that she has in years. “we all are.”” Well,” she amends “maybe not him” gesturing at Ayn. “but only because he is a terrible son” and Ayn interjects “If it helps, they all are terrible parents.” “yes.” Thea smiles “speaking of parents,” she turns to Sari “he asked me of your-“ and Sari panics, fearful of that shadowy eye that looked at her and sought the ghost of a woman no longer there. Of that ball of yarn that kept getting more and more tangled the more they tried to unravel it. Her next words are meant to cut and cut they do.

“Do you do that too? Turn into a dragon, breathe havoc on villages steal brides from chapels?” “My father is not monster.” Thea recoils wounded and weary and not caring for another blow. “They all look the same to me.” Sari shrugs. The apology doesn’t come then, but later in the night as they prepare for the next steps of their journey and Sari is still wolf and poison but also half a conscience and a beating heart that cares enough for them to let them know, _we_. What I meant was _we_.

The Journey into the castle brings about more questions for Thea and all answers for Sari. Ayn, she doesn’t know. Sari would say that she has no time for navel gazing, but the truth is that she knows her place. There are immediate battles to be fought and she finally has concrete names to put to the enemies she will sink her blades into, where there were only whispers before. A crazed Layan general and a vengeful Orakian cyborg.

“He was the best of us.” Wren says. Mourning someone long gone. “A thousand years of solitary confinement can do that to you.” Sari says. She doesn’t begrudge Siren his vengeance, it was not so long ago that she herself swore _never again shall I bow to a Layan_ , except she is so tired of losing people that she loves. She won’t give him that. Ayn and Thea and Mieu and Wren will have Azura. And Sari’s best parts will remain with them: the stories and songs of her people are safe with Thea and Ayn will train his own daughter or son. And Sari does not mind the love despite the pain it brings, despite her mother’s wishes. She might not be better than them, but she is, as always. Enduring. She doesn’t know if this makes her stronger. Finds out that she hardly cares and isn’t that a revelation.

“They are afraid.” Thea whispers. “The spirits.” “Your gods?” Sari asks an amused smirk tugging at the curve of her mouth. “Their voices are blackened with fear. Of this thing that is pitting us against each other.”

“My people are dying.” Sari says. Gazes at Ayn and then back at her with unfathomable eyes. “Your people are dying.” “and it is now that your gods are afraid?” “They are not gods, they do not govern fortune, grant some- perhaps.” Thea says.” But their wise roots run deep, yet they know only enough, to be afraid.”

“Was it the same thing do you think, that sundered and sealed the worlds? Kept people into pockets feeding them hate and prejudice teaching them to turn on each other?” she ponders out loud.

 “No.” Mieu says “It was Orakio, who sealed the worlds. At least from what little I can remember. The rest, I hardly think needs a nurturing hand to be cultivated.” “Someone tampered with your memories?” Thea asks indignant. “it was ,perhaps, a blessing.” Mieu says in a melancholy tone. “A millennium of memories is hardly a gift, it was maybe what drove Siren to madness.” And Lune, Sari thinks as she tends to her weapons, listening to them talk. “And Orakio? What you remember of him- what was he like?” Ayn asks Mieu as if he just realize he could’ve known all these had he only thought to ask these cyborgs who had been with him since he was in his mother’s womb. “Strong,” she answers. Pauses and tries to remember:” He loved his people, loved us.” “He was merciful.” She says. “And he didn’t fight alone.” And Sari is none of those things. And for all that she loves her people… _kill no living being_ so maybe she failed at that too.

“He was the best of us” Wren says.

“He was not a god. What he did, sundering the world sealing the passages, just because he did them does not make them right” Ayn says seeking her gaze holding it trying to communicate something to Sari, but she is not Thea. She doesn’t speak their wordless tongue. And yet she is strangely grateful, and so so very tired.

“Tomorrow’s battle won’t be easy.” She says to the camp. “Best get some rest.” And to Thea she says. “We will win tomorrow and then, _then I’ll go back to Landen_ she thinks,” You will have your land and then perhaps we can seek out what has frightened your gods. But first get some rest.”

Silence eventually falls on the camp. Sari keeps working on her blades head for once blessedly silent of all the cries, of all those things she promised herself she would never suffer.

 Lune is out there somewhere, she thinks, the thought heavy on her mind, blades light in her hand. It is yet soon to die.

**Landen. against all hope, Landen**

In the aftermath of the final battle there are broken parts, bones and blood, cyborgs, Siren’s and Sari’s.

Ayn leaves Sari in Thea’s care. She doesn’t question this, though she knows he can feel her gratitude. Sari doesn’t question this either, simply cracks a jock at his fleeting loyalties. _He is after all, half Layan_ , something crinkles at the corner of her eyes now, fond. Raw. Bared for all to see. Like the day they first met- fight. Fools. Both of them, for not learning, one to decipher and the other to hide, but Sari is proud of the heart on her sleeves, heart of steel, taught to draw blood even as it bleeds, and it would be hard, so hard to leave behind this would be queen, the founder of a militia who leads from the front. Who knows the weight of her steps, is sure of the strength of her arms, the call of her heart. For Ayn who has come to love her as one loves himself, and go back to the intrigue of the court, to unanimated hearts turned foul with a side glance- Thea was so sure she would marry him someday.

“He is not like his father.” Is what Thea says. _He is too much like you_ , is what she doesn’t say. _In another world, you could be the same, siblings, two halves of a whole, a whole that hadn’t been sundered, as the land is sundered, and I could’ve loved you and it would’ve been blaspheme, for I wouldn’t have known you, but a pale shadow, the sum of you both and somehow less for it. And yet still, fall for you,_ oh how she wishes for it to be lie.

“He will not abandon his people.” Is what she says.   

Sari lets her head drop, brown mane falling in a cascade of waves, an acknowledgment of a battle, honorably fought and lost. “I expected no less.” She says, lie turned truth turned lie. Hope begets treachery, and Thea’s heart clenches at this, for despite her love for songs and dance, old tunes and delicate finery there is a part of her that fears the seat of the high queen on the throne of Cile like the dark space at every corner of Lensol’s dingy dungeon, fears the lulling cocoon of the spirit now that she knows how thin their wise blood runs, and perhaps it is because of Sari, this defiance, -for Sari would’ve torn the walls of the cell down, would’ve died trying, would’ve done terrible things born of ignorance bravery and yes love. Deaf to the spirits, defying the spirits- but perhaps it has been with her all along, while she waited on her aunt, prickled her finger on a thorn in the royal garden, shielded Ayn from accusatory glances and sharp tongues with those of her own. Or perhaps it came from the old tales, from their mothers and fathers and aunts and their forefathers and mothers, from Orakio and Laya and all they could’ve been to each other: enemies and lovers and friends and all there is in between and beyond, against the impeding darkness.

“I have been trained to govern a kingdom”, she offers “the luxury you she couldn’t have been afforded.” Sari looks at her behind closed off walls, not even the slightest impressed, hurt even, if the wolf queen can be hurt by such trivial things as _words_. So Thea rethinks her words, retracts her steps. And. Oh. Yes, she understands now how they all came out wrong, so she hastens to clarify, fumbling on her own words like an ineloquent child: “I know how to heal”, she explains, thinking of the flowers in her garden, “I know how to mend, and you need someone, not to fight beside you- not only that. But someone who knows how to heal, and you are not trained for that, for the time of peace, however fleeting. You said it yourself. And I- “she pauses. And chooses her next words carefully, careless, for once, with abandon: “I don’t want you to be alone. Anymore.”

“Ayn would be alone.” Sari says, gently, too gently for her, for Thea’s liking. “He will be.” she amends. “He has Mieu and Wren and his parents and the people. He will take a wife and sire children. But he will be alone, as your mother was alone. And as our fathers were.” _As will we_ , she thinks but it won’t be the same and my heart- she thinks- my heart choses you.

Then outwardly says: “I don’t think my father ever forgave himself for letting your mother go.”

“She was not his to keep,” Sari says.” Or to love, even.”

“Is it ever completely in our hands- where our hearts might take us?” “That,” Sari says “is the first making of a terrible parent. And terrible children will only follow.” “Perhaps” Thea pats her hand in an apology. The skin is hot under her fingers, the fever still has not given up its hold. perhaps she should have waited a bit longer to unload all this on her, but... Well, no use crying over spilled milk and all that. And there’s no way Sari can talk her way out of this now, addled brain or not, Thea thinks, heart soaring.

Sari closes her eyes with a smile in small breath of silence, but Thea senses a bout of hysteria approaching “My people will throw a feat when I go back with a Layan princess on my hands.”

“As opposed to a half Layan prince?” Thea askes glibly. Her wavering tone giving her away nonetheless. “I was never planning to go back with a Layan prince.” Sari says in a more somber tone while squeezing her hand, and then lightly with silent laughter and a hint of something wilder adds, “I think somewhere out there my mother is laughing at me.”

“My father will, when he hears.” Thea ponders. “Although, he would’ve preferred it if I married Ayn. And I would prefer it if we were not here when he arrives.” Sari looks at her with half lidded eyes. “Ayn loves you.” She says words almost slurred, the trimates must be finally taking effect Thea idly thinks. “Then he will come for me.” _Or for you_ she doesn’t say. “Not when I take the power topaz with me.”

“We can leave the passages unsealed. When it is safe, and we have dealt with Lune. And Ayn is quite resourceful when he has the proper motivation” She taps at the fingers beneath hers.

“And how do you propose to cross the bridge, if you don’t want to ask your father to give us a ride?” There is a twinkle in her eyes. As if she already knows the answer and Thea is truly impressed that she has resisted the call of oblivion in favor of the pain and her company for this long. And it is such a small thing to admit to in the face of all grand revelations. yet something still catches in her throat. “You were right, about the dragon blood. It does run in the family.”

“What color are your scales, then?” Sari doesn’t lose a beat as she asks drowsily. And Thea smiles, a light, bright thing, that almost clouds her eyes.

“The shade of sun in the high noon.” And Sari’s answering grin is such a fierce thing despite its lack of focus. As her fingers squeeze hers for the last time before succumbing into slumber.

Thea sits next to her on folded legs and cradles her hand in between hers. It would take a couple of days before Sari is deemed fit to travel. Enough to give them an edge over her father. And there is no way that he can beat them to Landen now that they know more about this land that he ever did. even if it means Sari has to get to her city on the sunburst wings of a dragon. and when he gets there, there will be no bride for him to steal, no abducted princess to save, just old ghosts needing to be put to rest and perhaps then, finally then he will come to know what it took Thea a world expanding journey and Ayn, brilliant, beloved Ayn, an afternoon to come to. The first time she stood in front of him and called out to the spirit for their wrath, to help her defend, to shield. That-

There are those who watch Thea and see only her aunt in the lithe dance of her feet and the dove-curve of her neck. But she takes so much after her father, in spirit, in wanderlust, her shadowy heart and yes love.

The old roads they paved will stay open, Thea will make sure of that.


End file.
